#aimlessness

When dusk falls on streets left bare, I walk over the empty road, contemplating my share, Drifting past houses with light spilling forth, Looking at lives that — in contrast — seem of worth.

People in their homes, eating dinner, watching TV, Content and fulfilled, and seemingly so free. They have earned their evening's rest, While I've done nothing — and the pain in my chest

It’s the new year. The first calendar year without my father, officially. He died about 2 months ago. Car crash. Random, seemingly. They don’t have any test results back yet. No other car was involved, they told me. Over and over again they told me.

Since it was so random and he was young and in good health (he was 57), he didn’t have his affairs in order. No will, no testament, no wishes. So my sisters and I are figuring it out. I was appointed representative of his estate, so a lot of the responsibility falls onto my shoulders.

To keep myself sane during this time, and just a way to channel and funnel my thoughts and ideas, I decided to start writing and make this blog to capture it.

I feel directionless. Like as if I’m just rooted until I figure this all out. My life had felt directionless before, but now it feels ruptured. This rupture makes me feel like change should come at this point, that I should move across the country or I should make some style of grand escalation in the story of my life. But not until I figure out his estate. This final task I have to do for him.

They don’t tell you when someone dies you have to do so many quests. Calling and going into banks, meeting with funeral directors, meeting with lawyers, digging through papers and bills and receipts. It feels endless at times. And because I’m doing detective work about my dad, because I’m trying to backwards build aspects of this last chapter of his life so I can sort his affairs, it feels like his spirit is still there. His personal story on this earth isn’t over, of course, because I am trying to help him finish it. No matter how random his death seemed to be.

But it does keep creeping into my mind, what will I do after? My job feels dead end, although I enjoy many of my coworkers. The city I’m in feels decayed and rotted compared to how it was when I moved here when I was 18. Cost of living has only gone up. I read and watch too much about the ways other people decide to live. Backpackers, writers, trainhoppers, hikers, monks, all are existing ways people do live, yet I work in an office doing a task a robot could do.

After he died I found out from my dad’s older cousin (who’s basically an aunt) that my dad at one point when he was younger had a grand dream of dropping everything and joining a Jesuit order in South America. It does feel like I’m the right person to sort his affairs.

I probably won’t write here every day, but I will try to do it as often as I can remember. I’ll write about whatever I’m thinking about. Sometimes personal, sometimes just what’s on my mind.

Love.

Uncover the profound joy in Thich Nhat Hanh's mindfulness meditation, experiencing peace, interconnection, and the wonder of the present moment.

Thich Nhat Hanh, a revered Zen Buddhist monk, teaches the practice of mindful breathing, encouraging us to dwell in the present moment and recognize its innate wonder. His meditative phrase “Dwelling in the present moment, I know it is a wonderful moment,” encapsulates the essence of mindfulness and the joy of being present. Let’s explore the depth of this powerful phrase. Arriving at the…

I know you did, at least at a certain point. Id like to believe that at least at one point, you really loved me and saw a future with me. That for even one moment, you saw and loved me the same way I loved you. Yet, I loved you too much and this is my punishment for it.

While you seem to have moved on (which in my opinion is either false and you're just ignoring your pain, or true and I was so delusional that I thought you geniuenly loved me enough), I am still here, tending to my wounds. You inflicted enough of Them, but they would have never been there if I loved you any less. I loved you so much that I let you do anything with me. I trusted you blindly, my heart and soul fully and utterly yours.

Now I'm picking the pieces of myself together and I'm happy. I'm happy with my own presence and I find myself picking out things I loved but haven't practiced a lot while with you. I find parts of myself I lost when with you, when I thought they were too foolish and stupid, or I was willing to sacrifice and alter them in a way that would please you.

Although I am scared to love for now, I feel whole. I feel more whole than I have felt before our relationship and I feel whole in a way I didn't feel during our relationship. Perhaps that was an issue too; i didn't feel whole on my own and relied too much on you to feel that way. I get why that's bothersome. But you did me great on that matter. I don't feel the need for someone the way I did for you and although I crave intimacy in all ways possible, along with affirmation and just a presence I can rely on for everything, I feel good by myself too. I find pieces of myself I once lost, and meet others that I haven't met yet but enjoy equally as much as the sweet nostalgia of the others.

I have grown and I'm growing even more now, all because of you. So although a bittersweet feeling lies in me regarding you, I am forever grateful for the journey and lesson you gave me. I don't think I'll ever fully get over you and a small piece of me will be softer for you, but I've grown into someone who isn't as needy anymore.

The Heart Sutra says that there is "nothing to attain." We meditate not to attain enlightenment, because enlightenment is already in us. We don't have to search anywhere. We don't need a purpose or a goal. We don't practice in order to obtain some high position. In aimlessness, we see that we do not lack anything, that we already are what we want to become, and our striving just comes to a halt. We are at peace in the present moment, just seeing the sunlight streaming through our window or hearing the sound of the rain. We don't have to run after anything. We can enjoy every moment. People talk about entering nirvana, but we are already there. Aimlessness and nirvana are one.

- Thich Nhat Hanh